


The Other Side of the Lens

by lorrxrai



Category: Mage & Demon Queen (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Model x Photographer, ah look some wild lesbians, definitely didnt think of this au in my maths class, its better not to think into it too much, mal is gay, nothin else to it, vel is hot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 04:26:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30016098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorrxrai/pseuds/lorrxrai
Summary: Malori Crowett, a full-time university student studying photography, found her big break, and is in for the chance of a lifetime.
Relationships: Malori Crowett/Velverosa
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is my first ever fic, so I'm sorry if there are typos and if the character dynamic isn't great. Regardless, I hope you can enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.

Ever since Malori was a child, she had spent hours pouring over models in magazines. In fact, she knew that, without a doubt, her childhood bedroom’s storage (and walls) had been taken up entirely by the issues she’d hoarded over the many, many years. She remembered spending hours late into the night, torch in hand, re-reading her favourite interviews with her personal favourite models. She’d be enraptured by one in particular; one going by the name Velverosa. 

She was a popular but rather controversial idol of the industry. A beauty, in words for short, with long legs and a more-than-full bust and fields of soft, almost glowing skin. According to rumours, her photos were hardly in need of touch ups: a photographer's dream. Though, according to those same very articles, she was a complete horror to handle: ill-mannered and audacious, unpleasant, demanding and draconian - a stark contrast to her ever-graceful and beguiling looks. Certain issues had even begun to refer to her as the Demon Queen. And still despite this, Malori was eagerly awaiting the day, the chance she got at ever meeting the one she idolised most, if she ever got one at all. Not that a busy woman - such as the one she’d nicknamed Vel - had any time at all to spare for  _ her _ .

Long story short, she didn’t care if she got treated like less than dirt, Malori would do just about anything for the very person who kick-started her gay awakening, even if she herself  _ literally _ kicked her.

After all, Velverosa was the sole reason she became a photographer in the first place, so for that she had to be at least somewhat indebted - if not wholly committed, in her case. 

“Malori?” She hears a voice call out from behind her, one she recognises instantly as Cerik: a childhood friend that followed her to the same university, an art major (with a  _ major  _ stocking fetish) and also, somehow, her best friend. Looking over her shoulder, she sees him wave largely to her and she slows to a stop, waiting for him to jog to catch up to her. “Didn’t your class start 20 minutes ago?”

“I don’t have class today, my eleven o’clock is tomorrow.” Malori returns, and begins to walk again, eyes on the worn path in front of her. Malori is also wrong, very wrong, as with most things. “You wanna grab lunch with me since you’re here?”

Cerik narrows his eyes, feeling that something was awfully off, but he still accepts the offer of free food. They walk together off of campus and down the road into Folstina, the prospering capital of the country, to one of the smaller cafes in one of the back alleys. It was often that they frequented this spot, not only just for the cheapness but also because the owner let them stay as long as they wanted. 

“You got anything you’re supposed to be working on, you stocking freak?” Malori asks, pushing against the table to swing backwards on her chair. 

“I hope you fall.” Cerik deadpans before pulling out a sketchbook from his bag and laying it on the table to idle through the pages. It’s contents were filled by large arrays of portraits of people, women mostly, and each one more alluring than the last. Cerik was talented in the art he made, even if his talents  _ were  _ exploited for— “Nothing new - same old stuff. I really wanted to get the chance to draw from a live model sometime soon.”

“Now I wonder why that is.” She retorts, releasing her hand and allowing the front two legs of the chair to hit the floor with a slam. Picking up her drink, she takes her sip. “And  _ I  _ really wanted to photograph  _ Vel _ sometime soon.”

“Still not letting the whole Vel thing go, huh?”

“She posted on her social media, Cerik! She’s right here, at this very second she’s somewhere in this city. We could just - run into her at any moment.” Malori’s eyes glimmer with hope as she slams her mug down against the varnished table, standing and slamming her palms flat against it. Her close friend looks more unimpressed than before. “I  _ will  _ find her.”

All seams of emotion leave Cerik’s face, replaced with something oddly reminiscent of fear. “Don’t tell me you’re  _ stalking her _ , now. It was odd enough that you have her all over your bedroom walls but to think you’re taking this to the next level, Mal.” 

She pouts, quietly sitting back into her chair and looking down into her lap, knees pointing distinctly inwards. A soft pink blooms across her cheeks and across to her ears. “I just want to see her in the flesh,  _ once _ . And if she degrades me? Even better. I just can’t explain it but I just  _ know _ that she’d make the perfect wife— I’m telling you.”

“You’ll never give up, will you?” He sighs, looking up to the dark ceiling of the cafe as he leans into the back of his chair. 

“I prefer to think of myself as determined in the face of turbulence.”

It was only later that evening when Malori turned on her laptop for the first time and read her bombardment of emails that she realised that ‘being determined in the face of turbulence’ didn’t even hold a candle to ‘knowing what day it is’.

Holy fuck. 

“ **_Miss Crowett,_ **

**_Regarding your absence today, you have missed your introduction to the next assignment. Over the next two weeks, beginning on Monday, you will be asked to participate in a competition of sorts amongst your classmates and rival universities: in which, you have to submit a series of images featuring at least one person, centring around one theme of your choice. In the instance that your work is chosen as a winner, it will be displayed over a two page spread in (y) magazine, and a personal interview will be given. It will act as great exposure in the long run. To aid you in this project, we have organised a cooperation between a multitude of modelling agencies from across the country to alleviate the struggle of finding a subject._ **

**_However, you have been unable to select from the candidates available for shooting over the period of the next two weeks since you were not present in today’s lecture to receive the appropriate contact details. Due to this, it’s a dire possibility that our department will have to actively exclude you from the project, or alternatively you will have to find your own course of action in recruiting your desired model in order to participate._ **

**_Though, out of the quantity of cooperating agencies, there is still one candidate available, even so, it should be known that she is renowned for being rather demanding and all work is done on her own terms: meaning that your work will, in essence, not be your own. Miss Crowett, I_ ** **will** **_know if those photos are your own or not, since they will be submitted for_ ** **my** **_approval first._ **

**_If you’re willing to agree to these conditions, contact her manager through the attached number._ **

**_Wishing you the best of luck,_ **

**_Prof.”_ **

Malori leans back in her chair, pulling her phone off of the charging wire, sighing in contemplation. Given that it was only four, it wasn’t as if she would be calling out of working hours, but still she considered if she was really  _ ready  _ for this level of professionalism. 

Not that that stopped her from dialling the number and listening to it ring once, then twice, and thrice more after that before it was finally sent to voicemail, forcing her to hang up. Heaving a sigh, Malori throws her phone down onto her desk and opens up her editing software.

She had to consider this carefully: if she wasn’t able to get into contact with this person (or their manager, more rather), would she even have a chance of finding her own? Was it possible to even attempt to use  _ herself _ as a model? Not that she was any kind of subject material. The most she’d taken of herself were for her social media, mostly tourist-esque photos from the period she was travelling with Cerik. At the time, her followers had even joked that she hopped from place to place so quickly that she might as well have been teleporting. And she remembered vividly the nightmares of staying up into the small hours of the morning just to finish correcting the images. Malori shivers at the thought.

Shifting her focus solely to her editing, she begins to touch up the lighting on the extra practice shoots she’d had last week. Since she had begun her time in the photography course, she’d dedicated herself to getting as much practice as possible, given that one day she might have the standard high enough to have the supposed Demon Queen Velverosa on the other side of the lens. It wasn’t as if her efforts were in vain either, she  _ was  _ good -  _ really _ good. Rivaled only by professionals in the field of both freelancing and full-time employed workers, Malori seemed to have the power to find the perfect angle to capture the most beautiful image, no matter what.

Sitting forward, she leans forward to grab a clip and pins back her bangs, finally fed up of having to continually blow them out of her eyes. She’d have to trim them soon: it wasn’t like she needed to make time to do so since she did them herself (too focused on other, more important stuff to do anything else and she knows it). Though, she’d considered going to a salon recently, since the most recent time Vel had updated her social media as she was midway through, and Malori had ended with… extremely short bangs. The embarrassment of having to show her face in public? Insurmountable. 

Beside her, her phone begins to vibrate on the desk. She turns it over and, not recognising the number, accepts the call. 

“Malori Crowett’s phone, who’s calling?” She hums, holding the phone to her ear as she sits back, slouching and stifling a yawn. 

“My name is Melathia, I’m a representative of (x) agency, you gave us a call around thirty minutes ago and we were unable to pick up. How can we help you, today?”

Upon hearing those very words, Malori sits bolt upright in her seat, and thus comes the ‘model, upstanding student’ voice. 

“Ah— My name is Malori Crowett, I’m a full-time university student studying photography. My professor passed this number onto me regarding contacting a model for the upcoming project.” 

A multitude of shuffling sounds scramble through the phone, the sound of papers being shuffled and a loud bang, a door slamming open, Malori would guess, and something roughly sounding like: ‘...her- its her-’

“Miss-” The person on the other end of the phone is panting, out of breath. “Miss Crowett, I- we’ve been expecting your call.”

“Call me Malori, I insist.” She says, appreciating the sentiment though not regarding how it made her vaguely uncomfortable to be referred to in such a..  _ formal  _ manner. Especially when she was sitting in the most casual (and dirty) clothes you could possibly think of. 

“You have two weeks, yes? When are you first available?”

The photographer pauses, twisting a lock of hair around her index finger. 

“Anytime Monday through Saturday works for me.” She decides eventually, her contemplation completely fake. Malori was always free: Malori didn’t have a life. 

“Perfect. In that case, we’ll see you Monday. This is my work number, so you can save it since this is the fastest way of contacting me. Oh - and just before you go, I just wanted to say that I have seen your work before on your social media and I am just  _ fascinated _ by your style.” 

Malori laughs, half-nervous, half-grateful. “Thank you, I really appreciate your support. I expect our first meeting to be to discuss ideas for the theme and shoot, yes?”

“Agreed. I will let her know, and I will see you in two days. Miss Velverosa and I are both greatly anticipating working with you. You have a nice night now, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes. And you as well.” 

But as the phone line goes dead, her words finally seem to register in Malori’s (incompetant) brain, which was apparently lagging like a 2006 desktop computer. 

_ Wait a second... _

**Miss...**

**_Miss Velverosa??????????? Whatthefuck?????????_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated & thank you for reading <3
> 
> (It should also be noted that this work is completely fictitious and is not meant to be realistic. I'm just using a combination of guess work and plot convenience.)


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies if there's any typos, thank you for reading!!

It was pretty safe to assume that Malori spent the majority of Saturday and Sunday questioning her existence. 

_ Her  _ Velverosa? 

_ THE Velverosa? _

The whole thing seemed far too surreal to be happening. It has to be some sort of coincidence, right? A small-time model with the same name, or something. There was no way in a million, nay, several million years that something so miraculous would happen to someone so mundane, she’d thought to herself. But her mental reassurance from the night previous did nothing in the way of repressing her gushing excitement. 

Now, on the morning that she was supposed to be meeting her idol in the flesh, Malori has proudly slept through roughly fourteen alarms and is now throwing on the closest clothes out of her wardrobe in her alarmed stupor. She hardly has time to put the lid onto her coffee cup and sling her bag (the only thing she’d actually thought to prepare) over her shoulder before she's out, bolting down the streets from her flat. 

Malori, hair unbrushed and just-about presentable charging around campus was... certainly a sight to see if nothing else. Though realising that it’s not all that uncommon is considerably more concerning. What’s more was her missing her turn _ twice  _ and having to sprint back  _ twice,  _ before finally managing to dart down the correct route _. _ The photographer in question, however, out of breath and struggling to keep her legs going, can’t remember the last time she’d done this many steps walking, let alone running. 

Some sort of sick and twisted part of her enjoys the thrill of exercise for the first time in what  _ must  _ have been years, until she slams straight (or not so) into an unsuspecting bystander. 

The paper cup she’d hurriedly prepared for herself before she had left had been crushed, and the contents splashed across the torso of the person in front of her, as well as herself. It falls to the floor with a sad, empty tap.

“Holy _shit_ — I am _so, so,_ ** _so_** **_sorry._** ” Malori practically cries out, reaching into the bag and rummaging for a pack of tissues, pulling one out and pressing it against what she now notices is a woman’s chest, with probably a little too much force, in an attempt to soak up some of the spilt beverage, though to not much prevail. And, if she was really thinking about it, maybe a little too _excitedly_ too _._ “I’m in a bit of a rush right now bu—”

“Malori, dear, is that you?” An excited voice calls, and the frantic girl slows, squishing the soaked area one last time before finally processing and looking to her left, where a woman in a pencil skirt and blazer stands, offering a pleasant wave. Melathia: the woman she’d spoken to on the phone a couple days previous.

She shoots her an acknowledging smile before standing properly, hands returning to her sides, still clutching the soiled tissue. Malori’s stomach felt as if it were dangling at her feet, heart beating wildly against her chest (though it was unclear if it was from anticipation or the sudden influx of exercise); and as she finally draws to the face of person who she’d been border-line sexually harassing, she meets the disapproving stare of golden eyes glaring down on her. 

The smile courting her lips joins her stomach on the floor as she turns to look down at her free hand, which she’d involuntarily raised in front of her. She makes the same groping motion from just moments before, multiple times, before looking back upwards to the figure that she’d become all-too-familiar with. 

Though, instead of uttering any further form of apology, Malori’s jaw slacks and her eyes begin to pour with wonder. 

“Be my wife.”

A long pause hangs in the air between them before Velverosa twists her head to hide her warming face. 

“And you decided that this impudent  _ brat _ has potential? Melathia—” She pinches the bridge of her nose, the long shining rouge of her acrylic nails highlighting the paleness of her skin. The model sighs heavily. “Melathia even  _ you _ have standards and you bring me before a _ child _ ? Is another one of your incessant jokes? Do you even know how much trouble I had to go through to keep myself open for two whole weeks?”

‘ _ Huh, so maybe there was some truth behind the rumours.’  _ Malori thought. ‘ _ Even though she has her manager, she does most of the work herself. _ ’ 

“M-My name is Malori, Malori Crowett,” She announces suddenly, and the attention returns to her once more. “I’m a university student studying photography here in Folstina and—

“I challenge you - M-Miss Velverosa. If I can use you as the subject for my assignment - and if I win and prove to you that I’m worthy—” In all spite of her confident tone, Malori balls her fists and brings them close to her chest as she almost bows, face as hot as embers, glowing a storming red. “Then you’ll become my lover—!”

The taller woman muses for a moment, glancing down at the once-white, now splattered brown shirt that she still wore, before looking at the inadvertently charming girl (wait, what?), whom had just made the boldest statement she’d heard for months. Beside her, she hears Melathia rapidly scribbling down notes, but upon making eye contact she looks off into the opposite direction. 

“And what if you lose, _ little girl _ ?” She decides finally, leaning forward and grabbing Malori’s chin, raising it to be close to her own; holding it in place just long enough to see the girl flush further before pushing her away. “What then, hm?”

“If I lose, then I’ll vow to never be in your sight again.”

“A meek rabbit entering the den of a dragon.” Velverosa’s rose-tinted lips twist into an antagonising, almost sickening smile and the noisy scribbles beside her resume. “And you agree to those conditions and nothing but?”

“I’m a woman of my word ma’am.” The photographer nods, finally standing straight up, one hand finding her free hip. 

“In that case, it seems you’ve found yourself a deal, Miss Rabbit.”

/

  
  


Malori decides that the best place to take her potential temporary colleagues is to the exact same cafe that she and Cerik had visited just a few days previous. 

“It’s not as sketchy as it looks.” She grins. “I really recommend the coffee here.”

The atmosphere was as light as usual, and she internally congratulates herself on picking a good location: it was quiet but not so desolate that their conversation would encroach on the others around, whether they write or read or work in peace. Rich aromas of coffee allure the notion of relaxation, that with the warm colour scheme and light music not appearing to be heavily comfortable. It wasn’t overwhelming as with most places, it was easy on the eyes, so to say. Here, it felt as if no one was really watching as they always were outside, the supposed Demon Queen notices. 

Melathia, after consulting them both, wanders to the counter to order their drinks, though she seems to get distracted staring into the glass case full of hand-made confectionaries.

Malori guides Vel to one of her favourite tables, that was flush against the back wall and square; carved with intricate designs around the edges and surrounded by a set of three matching chairs. She steps in front of her idol and with a swift movement, pulls out her chair and flashes her a charming smile - to which Velverosa takes care to roll her eyes and ignore. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, but there was something in particular about Malori that made her want to kick her into next week, or punch a wall, despite never having done anything wrong to her... Apart from running into her at full force, and spilling coffee all over her, and publicly harassing her- nevermind. She knows exactly what it was about her that made her  _ so  _ annoying. 

How can one student, practically still a snot-nosed brat, have the ability to make her heart race, and still be so nauseatingly cute?

The photographer reaches her hand to drag the chair adjacent to Velverosa’s to take a seat, but before she can get much further she’s cut off. 

“Not a chance. You  _ will _ stay  _ at least _ a meter away from me at all times; you’ve already ruined my blouse and I’m not taking anymore chances.”

“But-”

The model’s eyes visibly tighten and Malori, thrilled, moves to take the seat across from her instead. But there’s a weird sort of tension that falls between them. 

“What are you staring at?” She eventually snaps, turning to look into Malori’s eyes, which she realises are steadily trained on the still-damp coffee stain on her shirt, and she lets out one of the most disapproving sighs she’s ever heard. “Must you be that shameless?” 

“You’re to be my lover, aren’t you, Vel?” She smiles, resting her elbows on the table as she interlocks her fingers to create a rest for her chin. Manifesting her own words, she tilts her head to the side, feeling the mess of her hair brush her neck. 

“You have the gall to be so confident? Have you forgotten who you’re pitched against? And don’t call me Vel . It’s Velverosa or M—”

“Okay, Vel~” Malori sings, and if she looked hard enough, the model could swear that she could imagine the girl across from her, though oddly reminiscent of a golden retriever. She brushes a lock of silvery hair out of her face. 

Melathia returns to the table with their drinks on a small tray, bringing their conversation to a halt. 

“I hope you two weren’t having too much fun without me.” She greets, placing the cups in front of both of her colleagues, respectfully. “And now, finally some formalities; we spoke over the phone, Malori, but it’s good to meet you face-to-face. My name is Melathia, I’m Miss Velverosa’s manager, though I mostly just keep the press out of her face.”

The photographer tries for a smile, reaching her hand out to shake, which is received gratefully by the manager (and part-time writer) and blatantly disregarded by Vel. “I look forward to working with you both.

“As much as I love pleasantries, my ideas for the project-” Malori clears her throat after taking a sip of the drink, that was still piping hot and definitely burnt her tongue, and addresses the ‘Demon Queen’ herself. “I’ve been a fan and consistent follower of your work for years - since I was a child, even. One thing that I loved most about your shoots was the fact that you were always displayed from your best angles: and from that perspective, to me, you never failed to be picture-perfect and still are, even. Just from sitting in front of you I can tell that what’s shown in those images isn’t some superficial image, as the media has made it out to be. For that reason, I want to make it known to those critics that something entirely different is the case. 

“Instead of doing something familiar, I want to create a direct contrast to your usual work. I mean this in no disrespect at all but I want to make a statement, and this is the best method I could come up with. For my project, I want to be able to capture the natural emotions- your natural emotions.”

“And just how do you plan on doing so?” Velverosa asks after a short pause, tilting her head softly to the side as she leans against the back of her chair, nails tapping the table at short, consistent intervals. 

Malori, already knee-deep into her idea, loses her dignity. A soft pink blossoms across her face.

“By- By going on dates-! With me, me- uh- preferably. I’m presuming that you wouldn’t want to go with some stranger and just have me  _ follow-  _ so I think it's- no- I  _ know _ it’s  _ much  _ easier if you just went with me personally so-”

Across from her, the subject in question sits in thought. It wasn’t like it was a particularly bad idea - and on the plus side, if this has the effect that Malori was raving about, she’d get a huge boost in popularity. On the other hand, though, it would mean having to shatter her pre-established image that she’d worked hard to build. She had been sick of looking at all of those happy, flowery girls dominating the industry and being so unmistakingly  _ fake _ , but what did this make her, if she went through with it? Somewhere in the purgatory of two polar opposites? 

“And this is your only idea?” Vel looks to the girl in front of her, who nods deeply before meeting her eyes, though they shine with an emotion that hadn’t been there before. 

“I promise that I won’t touch your boobs anymore.” She reassures, before muttering. “Not without permission anyway.”

“What was that last bit?”

“Nothing important. But I have utmost confidence that it’ll work out.”

“In that case, I suppose I have nothing but to oblige.”

It couldn’t be that bad, right?  _ Right? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting! It took a lot of time trying to reach a point where I was happy with this one, please let me know what you think of the interactions between characters because I'm always looking to improve. 
> 
> Thank you once more for taking the time to read my work and I hope you enjoyed it! <3


End file.
